


Happy in a Million Ways

by Praemonitor



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Keyword: Christmas Knitting, Oh Come All Ye Faithful Fic Exchange, One Shot, ugly sweater party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-09 10:16:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8887063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Praemonitor/pseuds/Praemonitor
Summary: A civilian consultant raises hell at the precinct’s annual ugly sweater party. Fluffy standalone Christmas short, written for the 2016 ‘Oh Come All Ye Faithful’ Secret Santa Fic Exchange.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For my Secret Santa, moonatoms — your writing is beautiful, unique, and inspiring. You bring fluff and angst alike to our devilish fandom, and I hope you enjoy this silly holiday adventure!
> 
> [ Prompt ]  
> Characters: Lucifer, Chloe, any others you want  
> Rating: no preference  
> Relationship: Lucifer/Chloe  
> Keyword: Christmas knitting
> 
> Also, because 'Christmas knitting' rapidly evolved into an ugly sweater party, my sincere apologies for any unintentional similarities to EllanaSan's amazing and heartfelt _A Devil for Christmas,_ where the prompt actually was 'ugly Christmas sweaters.' Our Secret Santa fics were surprise fraternal twins this year! :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own it.

This year, Ella Lopez hosted the department’s annual ugly sweater party on Christmas Eve.

The precinct embraced its new girl with open arms. Everyone loved Ella, bubbly and convivial and shameless in her geekhood. Not only was their little lab tech unparalleled at her job, but she always lent an ear to stressed coworkers, baked cookies for birthdays, and brightened girls' night with a crash-course in Klingon expletives.

After six months in Los Angeles, Ella already made more friends than Chloe had in a lifetime.

She made friends at work, at church, at bars, at Comic-Con, even in line at Starbucks. Ella never spoke badly of anyone. She never went without a kind word or gesture or smile. A deeply devout Catholic, she practiced what she preached with such subtly and poise that the humble cross about her neck was ostentatious in comparison.

An equally perfect hostess, Ella squealed with glee when the Deckers arrived in their Santa hats and sweaters, born of the most heinous Christmas knitting on God’s green earth. Though the clothes were store-bought, Trixie bragged about their homemade additions — bells, ribbons, ornaments, tinsel, the works. “Mommy let me use the hot glue gun!”

Ella showered them with well-wishes, gingerbread, and eggnog, flitting between guests and their families as her doorbell rang and rang. The entire department was here, half of whom still resented Chloe no matter the truth of Palmetto Street, while the other half blamed her for acquittal of John Decker’s killer. Even Dan kept at arm's length since the demotion and divorce. Insecure and inconspicuous, she curled into an armchair while Trixie played boardgames with the other children and danced haphazardly to music from the Nutcracker.

Then came one last knock, and tranquility evaporated in a puff of devilish smoke.

”Lucifer!”

In he strode, all six problematic feet of him, oozing glamour and charm in three-piece black Armani. Chloe was more than a little disappointed, and her daughter absolutely devastated. “Where’s your ugly sweater?!”

Lucifer grimaced at the Christmas lights and holly boughs and general gaudiness. ”I don’t own jumpers, ugly or not.” Inundated with merriment and drowning in holiday cheer, her partner put the Grinch himself to shame.

Nevertheless, Ella rejoiced his presence. “Oh, I’m so glad you actually came!” She engulfed him in a hug, which Lucifer tolerated more so than returned.

Such things once inspired jealousy — yes, _jealousy,_ Chloe begrudged after some soul-searching. Fine. She was jealous. She was jealous because Ella was cute and carefree and understood his Star Wars humor. She was jealous until she remembered that morning in her kitchen, his chin upon her head, his arms wrapping her tight. She was jealous until she remembered Lucifer only ever held one person close enough for long enough that her tears dried on his shirt.

Chloe scolded herself. _Petty, spiteful, unbecoming._ Ella was her friend, her tribesman. For Chloe, Ella fought a drunk bitch twice her size. For Chloe, Ella secured enough evidence to thaw the cold case of John Decker’s murder. And to Chloe’s utmost relief, Ella was way too good for a rake like Lucifer.

Innocent and oblivious as always, Ella grinned like a goon. “I suspected Mr. Morningstar might arrive sweaterless.” She produced a devil-red gift bag. “So I bought one just for him.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

And oh, did she ever. This cable-knit monstrosity was highlighter green, sporting the ludicrous image of hippie-haired Jesus in a party hat and emblazon with flamboyant block-letters:

_half-brother's birthday_

Chloe snorted so hard eggnog came out her nose.

“Commissioned off Etsy.” Ella was excessively pleased with herself. “Because you’re both the Son of God!”

Countless emotions crossed Lucifer’s face, everything from fascination to disgust, and for half a moment Chloe thought he might refuse the gift. But then his lips upturned into that sinful smile, and Lucifer began unbuttoning his jacket, waistcoat, and shirt.

Already down three shots of schnapps, the freshly-promoted Olivia Monroe, Chief of Police, ogled as he bared his chest. Chloe stepped a few strategic inches to her left and obstructed the view, unsure whose modesty she was actually protecting.

Though Lucifer donned this festive turtleneck with surprisingly little protest, he did feel obligated to douse the holiday spirit. “Christmas was scheduled on a Roman festival to piss off the pagans.” He gestured at the Christ-figure on his sweater. “Little bastard was actually born in late September.”

Ella nodded solemnly. “Jesus was totally a Libra.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Despite an oversized and morally ambiguous turtleneck, Lucifer spent the evening up to his eyeballs in doting admirers until Chloe encouraged her daughter to ‘rescue’ him. “Bake cookies with me,” ordered Trixie to one of the richest and most powerful men in California.

Lucifer was betrayed when his partner struck a deal in his name: “He’ll help if you say please.”

“Please, please, please!”

Rebellious by nature, he ate more dough than he baked. Lucifer also forwent traditional cookie cutters to mold the raw gingerbread into something suspiciously phallic. Chloe mashed it back into an inoffensive blob before anyone else noticed. “This is a family event!”

"Be grateful I attended at all, detective.” Lucifer hissed into her ear. “Yours truly bailed on a private audience with sexy Santa strippers to be here.”

_The sheer and unrelenting nerve—_ Chloe took a deep breath and counted to ten.

But as he was wont to do, Lucifer infuriated her one moment, enchanted her the next. Christmas tragedy struck when the radio died without warning and their caroling was abruptly silenced, halfway through a favorite refrain of _Home for the Holidays._ Partygoers mourned the loss.

And yet, if Lucifer could do anything, he could bring life to a party. Tucked away in the living room corner was a decades-old synthesizer, and he gravitated to pianos like a compass to magnetic north. Though a paltry stand-in for the Steinway, his fingers worked miracles across keys.

Without missing a beat, he picked up right where the song cut off.

Everyone cheered, his jazzy improv much better than the pop remix. Trixie danced and sang with her parents. “Oh, there’s no place like home for the holidays 'cause no matter how far away you roam, if you want to be happy in a million ways— ”

Softly, such that only Chloe could hear, Lucifer mumbled the very last lyric in his angelic tenor. “ —for the holidays you can’t beat home sweet home.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Ella’s old iPod replaced the defective radio — Christmas crisis averted — and Lucifer vanished after playing a few more holiday classics on the electric keyboard. Wherever he'd gone, trouble and women surely followed, so Chloe checked the guest bedroom first. Instead of her partner and the police chief in all manner of compromising positions, she found him still in that Jesus-sweater, rummaging for his billionaire-appropriate clothes in a pile of peacoats, scarves, and handbags on the bed.

“You’re leaving already?” The bold and independent woman within her cringed; she hadn’t meant to sound so downtrodden, but Lucifer was one of only four people here who liked her.

“Duty calls at Lux.” He searched and searched for his black Armani, considering the swankiest club in L.A. bounced cable-knit turtlenecks at the door. “You’d be surprised how many sinners go out and about on this oh-so-holy night.”

With a sigh and eye-roll, Chloe retrieved his suit-jacket, waistcoat, and shirt from the closet where she’d hung them. Lucifer raised a brow; she tried and failed to explain herself. “You tossed your clothes on the floor like Magic fucking Mike, but I know— well, you hate wrinkles, so I just— ” Now the sentiment felt awkwardly domestic. _Out-of-bounds, Decker._ She was his partner, not his girlfriend.

Lucifer studied her for a long moment, those dark eyes deep and disarming, then yanked the highlighter green sweater off and over his head without a word. How that man turned a fugly turtleneck into a striptease, Chloe would never know, but suddenly he was shirtless, and they were alone in a bedroom, and she became acutely aware of her ridiculous pigtail-braids under a Santa hat.

His open invitation to friendship-with-benefits was perfectly and abundantly clear, but she knew Lucifer better than he knew himself. He didn’t need another notch on his bedpost. He didn’t need another booty-call. He needed someone to hang his jacket so it wouldn’t wrinkle. He needed someone unafraid to call him on his bullshit. He had enough people ready and willing to take off his clothes, but no one ever stuck around long enough to help put them back on again.

_That's what real friends are for._

Chloe slid his cotton shirt from its hanger and held it open for him. This gesture was distinctly foreign territory; Lucifer took a while to realize she meant to dress him. Pivoting slowly, sculpted shoulders and crescent scars coming into view, he threaded his arms into sleeves and shrugged into his shirt, then the waistcoat and jacket.

He turned to face her again, reaching for his buttons. Mysteriously possessed by the Ghost of Christmas Flirts, she swatted his hands. “Don’t. Let me.”

Demure, obedient, and silenced of lewd commentary, Lucifer let her cinch him into a suit more expensive than her car. Chloe adjusted his vest, smoothed his collar, and his lone contribution was to tuck shirttails into his slacks. Once it was over, she felt breathless and flushed, and he looked like a million bucks.

”Where will you be tomorrow?” Her question baffled Lucifer, and Chloe clarified. “Christmas morning. Who d’you spend it with?”

He shrugged. “Whomever I took to bed the night before.”

Her heart hitched with grief and affection. “Don’t you celebrate the holidays with your brother, your mom— ?”

”No.” His jaw twitched, and his mood soured. That was explanation enough.

Chloe regretted asking, so she apologized with actions instead of words. ”Trix and I spend Christmas at my mom’s. We wake up early to open presents, then fix a huge breakfast and nap until noon. It’s nice.” She took a leap of faith. “You can come. If you want.”

Very rarely was Lucifer at a loss for words. “Detective, I— ” He seemed unsure, uncomfortable.

Right, of course he was. Spell broken, she feigned indifference — “Don’t feel obligated. No pressure. See you at work.” — and promptly fled, because she’d done it again: awkward domesticity. _So incredibly out-of-bounds, Decker._

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Or maybe not, because at the crack of dawn on Christmas day, Lucifer Morningstar arrived at their door with two dozen farm-fresh eggs for omelets. And instead of Prada or Gucci or Ralph Lauren, he looked handsome as hell in his ugly sweater.

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas and happy holidays to all!


End file.
